


A Lion In Winterfell

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anti-Daenerys, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 04:35:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12548992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jaime 'The Kingslayer' Lannister comes to Winterfell pledging his sword to Sansa and declaring for the North, but when Jon arrives home with Daenerys in tow, he’s not all too pleased with the arrival of Sansa’s newest protector and Sansa is not too taken with the infamous Dragon Queen either.





	A Lion In Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This was only in two parts on tumblr, but I decided to spread it out a bit more here. So if you read it there first and are wondering why it cuts off when it does...that's why.  
> 2\. Perhaps it was already pretty evident given that the Jon/Sansa relationship is a big part of this fic, but this is not very pro Daenerys or Jonerys. So, maybe if that's what you're into...this one is not for you?

‘They’re ready for you now.’

Jaime straightened from where he was leaning against the wall outside the Great Hall to find Brienne standing just outside the doors, watching him expectantly. She was still wearing the armour he had had made for her back in King’s Landing, and had Oathkeeper fixed to her hip, and Jaime softened at the sight.

But then his eyes cast behind her towards the door and the rumble of voices which were floating out into the hallway, and he locked up.  
  
Brienne didn’t miss his reaction. Of course she didn’t. And she stepped forward a pace with a crinkle in her brow. ‘Are you nervous?’  
  
Jaime didn’t bother denying it. Not with Brienne. She would only see through him. There was no point. So he arched an eyebrow at her and remarked dryly, ‘The last time I was at Winterfell I pushed Brandon Stark out of a window.’  
  
Brienne looked away with a grimace.  
  
‘And the last time I saw Sansa Stark she was at the wedding of Joffrey, who had spent a considerable amount of time abusing her in every way known to man. Of which I did nothing to prevent. So…’ He threw his arms out and sent her a sardonic smile. ‘I think a little apprehension is very much in keeping with our current circumstances, wouldn’t you say?’  
  
Brienne sighed and fixed her eyes on him.  _‘Lady Stark’_ , she said, correcting him, ‘is not the little girl she was when you last set eyes on her in King’s Landing. She is the Lady of Winterfell now.’  
  
‘Ah,’ Jaime retorted. ‘And my track record with those is not so great either, is it?’

Brienne simply watched him patiently before continuing in a soft voice, which was not unkind, but still hard with reproach. ‘Lady Sansa is strong and capable. She is principled and honourable. Firm when circumstances demand it.’ She paused with a small smile. ‘Just like her Lady mother.’  
  
‘I thought you were supposed to be convincing me to go in,’ Jaime quipped.  
  
‘But,’ Brienne went on with a stern, admonishing glare. ‘She is also kind and merciful. Compassionate and understanding. Also like the Lady Catelyn.’ She straightened and drew her shoulders back proudly. ‘If you are worthy of being forgiven, Lady Sansa will forgive you.’  
  
‘And am I?’ He asked absently as he stared behind her towards the door with a growing sense of apprehension. He looked back to her after a moment. ‘Worthy of being forgiven?’

Brienne’s hard face softened at that. ‘I do not think you would be here if you weren’t.’

Jaime straightened and drew in a deep breath, letting her words sink deep inside and fill him with absolution. After another moment, he nodded towards her. ‘Lead the way, Lady Brienne.’  
  
She smiled, genuinely and kindly, and turned towards the doors, Jaime following close behind.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was a dark, dreary place, with only a slither of light coming in from the tall, high windows. The days were short and cold here, especially with winter now officially begun, and the sun hung low and pale in the overcast sky.   
  
The room was filled with bodies - Northern Lords and allies from the Vale -  and as Jaime began his march down the center aisle between the rows of tables, he was followed by what felt like a thousand eyes, each one like a dagger on his flesh. Whispers and murmurs floated behind him as he passed: the Kingslayer in Winterfell again after all these years. What a sight.  
  
Jaime didn’t look at them, however. His eyes instantly shot to the table at the end of the hall. Sansa Stark sat in the middle, such a mirror image of her late mother that Jaime had to do a double take for a moment, convinced that it was the Lady Catelyn come back to life. She was flanked by a Maester on one side…and Brandon Stark on the other. Jaime’s steps instantly faltered at the sight of the boy. Older now but bound to the chair in which he sat.   
  
He had done that to him. It was his fault. Such a painful reminder of Jaime’s misdeeds felt like a dagger to the gut and all the breath left him for a moment. But the mumbling around him forced him to keep moving. He would face his just desserts soon enough. If he ever got there.  
  
As he drew forward Jaime’s eyes flicked to the corner of the room closest to where Sansa sat. A small form stood there, dressed all in black, her stance guarded and ready, her face sullen and piercing at the same time.  _Arya Stark._  So she was alive. Jaime tried to feel shock, but only amusement lanced through him at the sight. Of course she was.   
  
She was surveying both the room and him with a watchful, mistrusting gaze, like she was ready to leap forward and slice through him at any moment. The wrong move or word…and she would be on him. A rabid little dog standing guard in the corner. Jaime fought a smile as he turned back to the front of the room.  _Bloody Starks. As wild as wolves._  
  
Sansa’s eyes stayed on Jaime the whole time, unmoving and silent. And even when Jaime came to a standstill before the table and Brienne moved off to the side with a nod back at him for encouragement, Sansa still said nothing.  
  
Her eyes just watched him, their blue depths unreadable as she raked him with her gaze, penetrating him in a way which made him feel naked and exposed.  
  
He swallowed, wondering what he was supposed to do. He had expected her to address him, but it seemed she was waiting. For him. Or for the words to come to her.  
  
Unable to handle the silence any longer, Jaime cleared his throat.  
  
‘Lady Stark,’ he stammered. ‘Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.’  
  
Still she said nothing. And Jaime grew uneasy, her silence worse than the most monstrous of scoldings.   
  
He looked to Brienne but she only nodded back, her face solemn and indistinguishable.  
  
Jaime focused back on Sansa and decided he would use her silence to his advantage. He was going to plead his case and he was going to do it without her arguing or interrupting.  
  
He straightened, his hand going to his sword at his hip. Not because he intended to use it, but more for comfort. He was surrounded by enemies and just the feel of it made him easier.  
  
‘Lady Sansa - Stark,’ he corrected himself as he addressed her. ‘I am here to answer for my crimes.’ A few murmurs followed that.  _Where do you even start, Lannister?_  Jaime could not blame them. ‘And to offer you - no,’ he stopped again, knowing that wasn’t the right word. He wasn’t offering anything. That implied he was doing her a service in some way. ‘I am here to  _beg_  for your acceptance of my services.’  
  
Sansa only rose an eyebrow at that. Clearly not impressed and waiting for him to go on.   
  
Jaime winced but masked it quickly. He couldn’t show weakness.  
  
‘There is nothing I can say to make up for everything I have done in my life. Especially the harm to your family at my own hand.’ His gaze moved towards Bran sitting in his chair, but the boy simply sat there and stared at him, his eyes blank and impassive. Jaime drew back a little, not expecting that reaction - or the lack of one. But he recovered swiftly and faced Sansa again. ‘No words, no deeds can wash my hands clean.’ He paused and drew in a breath. ‘However, the army of the dead is marching on Winterfell. Not just the North, in fact, but the entire realm. Winterfell is the first line of defence, and there is nowhere else I wish to be.’   
  
He clutched his sword tighter and looked to Brienne, who encouraged him with a nod. ‘If there is any way I can begin to atone for my sins, I know I will find it here.’ He locked eyes with Sansa. ‘If there is any way I can honour the pledge I once made to your mother, I will do it. Even from afar, if you turn me away. However,’ he took a step forward, but several bodies stirred and rose, warning Jaime to remain where he was, and he stopped.  
  
Arya didn’t move forward but Jaime didn’t miss the way the lines of her body straightened ever so slightly and her grip tightened almost imperceptibly around her sword. Maybe to anyone else she remained as still as ever, but Jaime knew better. Knew from his many years being a guard himself. He could recognise the tells of a threat being sensed and appraised.  
  
‘However,’ he continued, before the younger she-wolf could cut him down. ‘I know I can do a better job if you keep me close by. And if you agree to it, I will lay down my life to keep my promise to Lady Catelyn. I will risk my life and die if I must for her home and for her family.’ He glanced towards the impassive Bran, before drifting his eyes to Arya for a moment and then back to the stern Sansa, and added, passionately, ‘For her children.’   
  
And then he dropped to his knees, the hard stone of the hall slamming against his kneecaps. ‘I know I can serve you well. All I ask is the chance to prove myself.’  
  
Silence met his words.  
  
Jaime expected jeers, shouts, cruel whispers.  
  
But nothing.  
  
Everybody just watched him, watched Sansa….awaiting her judgement. And the Lady herself continued to stare at him, as if she were trying to tear him open with her eyes and see inside, see the truth of it.   
  
Finally, after several excruciatingly long moments, Sansa rose, slowly, with her gloved hands on the arms of her chair. As she brought herself higher and towered over him more with every passing second, Jaime felt like drawing back a little further. She was formidable here, within the walls of Winterfell. Her family beside her and her Lords and Knights standing close by.   
  
So different to the little wisp of a thing he had known in King’s Landing. Always flitting about nervously, casting her eyes around for danger, as if Joffrey would jump out at her from around every corner. She had been a delicate flower then, afraid of her own shadow. But now…now she was the one to be feared.  
  
Jaime didn’t know whether to be afraid or impressed. But he forced himself to remain still, his shoulders straightened as his knees began to numb against the stone floor.   
  
Sansa looked down at him, giving nothing away as her cloak fell down her body and her red hair, braided to her temple at each side and a shock of colour against her grey and black clothes, somehow made her look far more terrifying. Like she was made of fire.   
  
‘Ser Jaime,’ she said, her clear, firm voice ringing out through the hall. ‘Your crimes against the North, your crimes against my family…they have left a dark stain not easily washed out.’ She paused and her gaze drifted to Bran as she said, ‘Some scars will never fully heal.’ Jaime’s stomach hollowed out, but still Bran simply gazed  _through_  him, barely registering his presence at all.   
  
She turned back to Jaime, her tone growing more clipped. ‘The North is a hard and unforgiving place, Ser Jaime. The winters are long and the people not quick to trust outsiders.’ She lifted her chin. ‘The North Remembers.’  
  
‘I understand that, but -’  
  
‘However,’ she went on, ignoring him. ‘We are also practical. We lack the frivolity and facetiousness of the other kingdoms. We do what we must to survive, to pull each other through the winter. And we are not blind to honour and bravery when it is kneeling at our feet.’   
  
She stopped for a moment then, and something passed across her face. Jaime wasn’t sure what, but it was emotion of some kind, some feeling cracking the stern mask of her face. 

‘We are not cruel. We understand. And we try to forgive when amends are being made. When loyalty is offered. Especially when death is knocking at our door.’   
  
She glanced towards Arya for some kind of strength, it seemed, because a moment later she turned back to Jaime with what appeared like renewed vigor. 

‘The Night King and his army is marching South, Ser Jaime. And you said it yourself, Winterfell will be where the North makes it’s stand. We need every man, every able body at our disposable.’ 

There were a few grumbles at that and Sansa straightened, her eyes flashing and her next words biting and cold, and Jaime knew she was no longer just speaking to him.

‘When the dead march on the realm, we cannot afford to uphold our petty differences. It is no longer a case of man vs man, house vs house, family vs family. Stark versus Lannister,’ she added, locking her eyes on Jaime again. ‘There is only one battle. And that is between the living and the dead.’ 

Jaime almost smiled. She sounded so much like Jon Snow in that moment, when he had addressed them all at the Dragon pit. She was like his little double. His partner in gloomy proclamations.

‘As long as you are not one of them,’ she said to Jaime, ‘you are one of us.’  
  
Jaime breathed a sigh of relief, but then he felt someone move in his periphery and it was followed a by a strong, gruff voice. ‘The dead are not the only enemy.’  
  
All eyes turned to the man now standing close to Jaime in the aisle. Bronze Yohn Royce, Jaime recognised. He had met him a handful of times over the years.

‘Forgive me, my lady,’ the old man said, looking up at Sansa. ‘You speak of forgetting old blood feuds and grudges, and I commend your predilection for mercy. I truly do.  And as you say, the dead are marching South, getting closer by the day…but we cannot turn a blind eye to the enemy travelling North.’ Jaime narrowed his eyes at the man, and then he continued. ‘Your brother will be here any day now, with the Targaryen girl in tow.’ 

A few murmurs flowed like a ripple in water throughout the room. The topic of Daenerys Targaryen was clearly not a popular one in the North. Jaime had to fight a smile. The girl had no idea of what awaited her when she arrived. There would be no rolling over the Northerners the way she rolled over the Lannister army outside Highgarden. 

Sansa sighed, her shoulders slumping, but she didn’t argue Royce’s point, Jaime noted.  _She has no argument,_  he realised. She knew Jon Snow bending the knee to the Targaryen girl was a bad move. She was no more pleased about it than anybody else here. Even though she was holding the North for Snow, although she had to uphold his decisions and wishes…the fact remained: she could not defend him in this.   
  
‘Jon said the Dragon Queen is coming to defend us.’  
  
That was Arya. Speaking for the first time from her place in the corner. Her voice was full of internal struggle. Jaime could sense it from struggling himself for so many years. She wanted to believe one thing, but the truth was telling her another. Her face was blank and guarded, as always, but there was a flash of something in her eyes: the desire to defend her brother, no matter the irrationality behind it. Jaime knew that feeling well, had worn it like a second skin since he was a child.  
  
Sansa turned to look at her sister as grumbles and protestations broke out among the people gathered, and something passed between them. Jaime couldn’t make it out from where he kneeled, but Arya looked away a moment later, her eyes lowering in resignation and her shoulders slumping. She knew she was wrong. There was no defending Jon this time. Sansa turned back to the room, her own eyes definitely softened with sadness.   
  
‘She is coming to take the North through coercion,’ another voice said from behind him, and Jaime turned to see a greying, bearded man standing tall and angry. ‘Backing us into a corner by bringing the only means for our salvation. She withheld it until your brother dropped to his knees, and only then did she seek to travel North to aid us.’ He stopped, his lips twisting into a scowl. ‘She has given us no choice but to kneel. She has dangled our lives, our families lives by a string before us and dared us not to reach out. And she thinks this…this twisted gratitude will be enough when the war is won.’   
  
A few voices rose up in agreement. 

‘Lord Glover is right,’ a new voice shot out to Jaime’s left, and his eyes almost bugged out of their sockets when they landed on a small girl no older than 10. Even standing she barely reached the waists of the other men there. But there was a fire and fury in her eyes which made Jaime want to draw away, out of it’s reach.   
  
‘As if a Queen who barters for our servitude by using our lives as currency is any worth kneeling to.’ She glared up at Sansa, so much anger in a body so small. 'The Targaryen is not like the Kingslayer,’ she spat, her eyes moving to Jaime for a flash. 'Or any of the Southern families we are yet to make peace with. She is a foreign invader. Coming for all of us. When the Night King is defeated she will take all of our Kingdoms, with fire instead of ice.’  
  
The hall erupted into assenting roars at that, and Jaime’s eyebrows rose. If this was what they were hiding up North - little girls who spoke with the voices of hardened battle commanders - then it was no wonder their reputation proceeded them.  _To be feared, indeed._    
  
Yohn Royce turned back to Sansa, raising his voice to be heard over the din. ‘My Lady, when the dead are defeated,  _if_ the dead are defeated…the Dragon Queen does not go quietly into the night. She will want your independence and the fealty of the Vale soon after. I’m afraid Lord Glover and the Lady Lyanna are right. Using our lives and our families lives against us, as incentive to serve her…that is no choice at all. And when she has rid the world of the Night King and his army, she will simply take his place in subjugating us.’ He looked around the room. ‘I fear when one war is one, there will be another to fight.’ He fixed his stern eyes on Jaime. ‘And where will the Kingslayer stand then?’ He spat with disdain. ‘The girl has dragons, an army of Unsullied warriors and a horde of pillaging savages from the East. She is the winning side, and it is not like a Lannister to invest unwisely.’

A chorus went up around the room at Jaime’s expense and Sansa’s gaze turned on him again, this time with a frown marring her brow and a flash of something in her eyes which looked a little like panic.  
  
Jaime waited for the cheers to die down and then said, ‘I have no great love for the Dragon Queen.’ He glanced around the room, addressing every man there with a scowl aimed in his direction. ‘I stained my own reputation in an effort to rid the Targaryen’s from this world. And when the Mad King’s daughter rained dragonfire down on my army, I was willing to give my life to make sure that was as far as her reign of terror would reach.’  
  
Silence met him, but it was better than more grumbling.   
  
‘And your sister?’ Sansa asked cautiously. ‘Daenerys Targaryen wants the Iron Throne and she will kill Queen Cersei to get it. What happens when she turns her dragons towards the Red Keep? Will you not itch to rush to her side? If we put our trust in you, would you not leave us open and vulnerable to immediately race South when she calls for aid?’  
  
Jaime’s heart turned over heavily. He felt the break from Cersei like a physical ache still in his chest and every time her name was mentioned it smarted and stung. ‘My sister…’ he said, before clearing his throat. ‘I fear my sister is already lost. She is content to die for the Iron Throne. But I am not.’ He paused and shrugged. ‘The Dragon Queen seems willing to do the same. So let them have at it. Let them kill each other for the goddamn iron chair. I care not. I will be here. Where I belong.’ He stopped again, his eyes lowering. ‘My sister would burn King’s Landing to the ground with herself inside before she let’s Daenerys sit on the Iron Throne. And it may have taken me a while to truly see it…but she would burn me along with her without a moment’s pause.’  
  
He swallowed thick, the emotion clogging his throat and looked back to Sansa. ‘I pledge my sword to House Stark.’ He withdrew his sword from his belt then, and even though several bodies jerked forwards again, they were stayed by Sansa raising a hand. Jaime placed the sword before him and said, ‘This sword was made from your father’s greatsword, Ice. Lady Brienne has the other.’ Sansa briefly glanced to the lady knight. ‘I carry this with me to protect Ned Stark’s children with his own blade, to uphold the vow I made Lady Catelyn with the weapon of her husband. This sword is a symbol of everything I am, of everything I will ever be.’ He took a breath and raised his voice a little, addressing the whole room. ‘I may not be able to wash away my sins. I may never earn the forgiveness, trust and acceptance I seek and desire. But I serve House Stark. Now and always. And that means any enemies who would do you harm. If that means the Dragon Queen, then so be it. I was willing to die for my own army in battle with her. I would do no less for the children of Catelyn Stark.’ He paused. ‘And if that means my sister…’ He swallowed. ‘I would cut her down before I let another Lannister raise a hand to you.’ He looked straight into Sansa’s eyes and saw her breath catch.  
  
Silence rippled throughout the room, the shock of his words sinking in. Brienne was looking on him with pride she was trying desperately to mask, and even Arya was squinting at him in consideration. But Bran was still staring at him uneasily, and Sansa…Sansa was back to assessing him as if he were a puzzle she was trying to solve.  
  
But then finally she spoke, and Jaime jerked to attention.  
  
‘When my mother released you from captivity,’ she said. 'She did it for a reason. She was a desperate woman, I know that. In need of any way to reunite herself with me and my sister. And although…’ she trailed off for a second as her voice caught. ‘Although that never came to pass…’ Jaime saw Arya lower her eyes in the corner of his vision. ‘She did it with faith that it would. And that faith was in  _you_. She trusted you.’   
  
She moved, making her way around the table as she continued to address him and the room at large. ‘And whatever happened after that, you kept your end of the bargain. Your word. You did everything in your power to get both me and my sister to safety. You sent Brienne to protect us in whatever way she could.’  
  
She came to stand before him then, and up close he could see the way her face had changed, grown over time. She was truly beautiful now, moreso than she was when she was a girl in the capital.   
  
‘Because of Brienne I was reunited with my brother at the Wall,’ she told him, looking down on him, not unkindly. ‘And together we took back our home. I became Lady of Winterfell and he was crowned King in the North. Because of this, my family was able to return home.’  
  
Jaime looked to Arya briefly, who was watching him again, the hard lines of her face definitely softened a little, despite the stubborn glint in her eye. That struggle was definitely back. She didn’t want to trust him, but was caving with every word out of Sansa’s mouth.   
  
‘None of that would have happened…without you.’  
  
Shocked murmurs flooded the room, but Sansa went on as if they were of no consequence. ‘You sent Lady Brienne to me. And without that, without her…’ She broke off as her throat worked with a nervous swallow. ‘I would likely still be in the grip of the Bolton’s now. And they would still hold Winterfell and the North.’  
  
She straightened again, masking her face against the emotion which had trickled out. ‘You have already offered your services. In the sight of Gods and men. I believe your own words will suffice. You swear it by the Old Gods and the New?’  
  
Jaime found himself nodding, enraptured by her gaze as she stood before him, stoic and majestic. ‘I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.’  
  
And then she squared her shoulders, and said, ‘Well then…I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.’  
  
Jaime just stared at her, unable to believe what was happening. He had imagined it, of course, but never in his wildest dreams did he ever conceive of it coming true. He was numb, shock and hope coursing through him, stunning him into speechlessness. Barely even able to register the surprised, somewhat discontented murmurings tumbling through the room.

‘Arise,’ Sansa commanded, in a voice softened with the stirrings of acceptance.  
  
So he did.


End file.
